Agony and the Band of 7
by The Mad Squirrel
Summary: It's not easy being in a band. Especially when some other members include an eight foot tall bouncer with hands the size of your face, a so called chemist who is quite clearly a mad scientist, and a guy who can't figure out how to tell Inu Yasha that he likes him. Rated T for child abuse and lang.
1. Introduction Prologue Thing

It's not easy being in a band. Especially when the other members are an eight foot tall bouncer with hands the size of your face, a so called chemist who is quite clearly a mad scientist, and a guy who can't decide if he likes me (a girl) or Inu Yasha. PARTY ROCK IS IN THE HOUSE TONIGHT! LET'S BLOW THIS PLACE TO H**L AND HAVE A GOOD TIME!

OK, I'm going to quickly fill you in before I start telling the story. My name is Agarin Mishikoto. I am 16 years old. I go to Rannon High for the 11th grade. I have an average school life and the home life sent from Hell. But the time I look forward to the most is after my classes, and dealing with my drunk, psychotic, abusive mother and KIA father. After the sun sets; that's when I start living. My 'night-life' consists of a band, two eight foot tall speakers, and seven totally bad-arse (and occasionally dumb-arse) boys.

Our band is called 'Agony and the Band of 7'. We rock old theaters, abandoned warehouses, the occasional subway tunnel (those are particularly fun). We give concerts with the city mayor's permission. If we were found doing it without his agreeing to it, we'd all be in jail, the band would be wrecked, and that would be the end of my life. So dealing with the legal bull is generally my job; because my sanity and general well-being lives and dies with the band. Also, if we're good, the mayor gives us a spot at the Music's Black Miasma. This place is the best in town for a rock concert. It has speakers, a snack bar, stage, lights, camera, ACTION! And the name is cool.

So here we are. The last awkward paragraph before the story begins. I should probably put something mysterious that makes you want to read more, but I can't think of anything like that. So I'm just going to write about how I can't think of anything and hope that you'll have the good nature to keep reading. If you do, well, good on you.

**Please review if you like it!**


	2. Two Years Ago

**Yello, hello, mello! Just so you know, I'm starting this story two years back in Agarin's past. So you can understand the whole story. And I would do it in flash backs, but that confoozzles me, so I won't bother.**

…**.**

_Two Years Ago_

Agarin

Last night, Mother had given me another really bad beating. Beating doesn't even describe it at this point. Try "viciously assault with a broom and a cooking pot". Give points to my Mother, she is imaginative. And cruel. And morally vicious.

I had to walk the three miles to school every day. Mother is too high and mighty to drive her useless bitch of a daughter three whole miles, and the last thing I need is the kids on the bus seeing my two-story hovel. I mean, house.

Last night had been down in the bottom five worst "beatings". My list goes from the lightest "beatings" (which are the high numbers) to the worst (which are the lowest). I had all of my things gathered in my right arm, because my left arm was tender and tingling ever since the loud CRACK in my shoulder after the broom started it's work.

My good arm was starting to hurt with all the weight, but just in time, Rannon High popped into view. For most people, high school is living a nightmare, but for me, it's my safe ground. Mother can't come here and hurt me. So for eight hours every week day, I'm safe.

I trudged into school. I was already late for first period, but since I always was, the teacher didn't seem to notice any more. I think she just got tired of wasting tardy slips. There were still a couple kids in the halls, but they took not a glance in my direction. I opened my locker and dropped everything in the process. I swore under my breath and nudged my lunch box the last few inches into my locker with my foot. I pushed my maths binder in with it, as well as my history binder. I wouldn't need those until after lunch. I closed the door and picked up the remaining two binders. I strolled toward my Latin class room, enjoying the (mostly) empty halls. So here I go. One more day of ignorant teachers and idiot kids. One more day of boring classes and homework. One more day of being ignored. One more day of freedom. One last day, until the weekend began. One last day, until I was at her mercy for 48 hours. Mercy that I'm sure doesn't exist at all.

I slouched into Latin, pushed my homework onto the pile of turned in assignments on Mr. Ganmin's desk, and sat down at my desk in the back. I settled in for two hours of babbling away in a dead language.

Mr. Ganmin gave us the class assignment of writing one paragraph in Latin describing our life. Perfect. Thank you. Go shoot yourself. Please. I stared at the blank piece of paper he put in front of me. I thought about writing:

_Ego__sum__Agarin__. __Ego__sum__puer__amet__Hitler__qui__gerit__fimbrias__. __Odio__eius__viscera__. __Ego__amare__schola__. __Pater__cum essem__interfectus__tres, secundum__ad__Mater__. __Non__credere__eius__. __Volo mea__"__tata" __domum__. __Ille__nisi__me__. __Forsitan__meum__amicis__nisi__me__. __Si__non__in__socialis__equivalent of__a__rabidi__tempus__bomb__cum__lepra__. Qui est mutus._

But I decided against it. It's Latin, for God's sake. Again, it's a dead language; who cares? Why do we need Latin? So instead I wrote in Spanish (yes, I am bilingual):

_Eres un idioto._

I sat back, satisfied. I'm pretty mean to Mr. Ganmin. I'm generally reserved and kind (again, _generally_) but once he called Mother and asked her why I was always late and I got #4 on the beating list. So all year I've quietly been getting revenge.

I got up and handed it in. Then took my seat again. I now had one hour and 56 minutes to kill. Smiling I pulled out a piece of lined paper and began writing a song. I love song writing. I'm OK at it, too.

_Call me back if you still love me_

_Because I want to tell you_

_How much I despise you_

_Detest you_

_Detest your lies_

_Detest your deep blue eyes_

_You put me down_

_Beat me down with the weight of the world_

_Crying in a corner because of you_

_Songs are all I have left_

_Detest you_

_Detest your lies_

_Detest your rotting heart_

_Six-string slung across my chest_

_Plucking away to a tune you wrote me_

_Let it burn _

_Let it burn_

_Because I don't care_

_Because I_

_Detest you_

_Detest your lies_

_Detest your rotting heart_

_Detest you_

_Detest your lies_

_Detest your rotten heart_

I liked this one. It fit. It wasn't about my Mother, actually. It was just about someone. Songs don't have to be about anybody. I don't have anyone to hate except my Mother. I don't have a six-string, though I'd love one. I've never had a boyfriend. Or even a boy-friend. Or even a friend. I had one in the last town, but he found out about Mother hurting me and told everyone he could, trying to help. That's why we moved here last week. I'll never see Koyan again. I'll miss him. That's why Mother has been worse than usual. She had liked the last town. All booze there was half-off. But she's been taking her revenge on Koyan out on me. So I suppose this song is about him. But only the first verse. Mostly.

…

**Yes, no? I did write that song myself with the help of Whit's drumset and my electric keyboard. It is mine by rights. So I'm going to put it on the internet. Hooray. Hope you liked it! Reviews make me upload faster. If anybody's reading this. Oh well.**

**P.S. The song is called "Big Blue Eyes On The Face Of Lies". Catchy, eh?**


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